


When Dreams Come True

by DreadfulCatTranslations



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comedy, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26258023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DreadfulCatTranslations/pseuds/DreadfulCatTranslations
Summary: When a vial of Severus Snape’s patented Potion of Unfulfilled Dreams is broken by one Hermione Granger, all hell breaks loose. Be careful what you wish for!This is a crackfic.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 16
Kudos: 78





	When Dreams Come True

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Когда сбываются мечты](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/678391) by Астрея. 



> I'm not a professional translator so all these horrid mistakes are mine and mine alone.
> 
> This work couldn't have been completed without the willingness of people coming from different countries and cultures to share their love for the HP universe, The-Know-It-All and The-Potions'-Master-Who-Most-Definitely-Lived.
> 
> Bergkristall, thank you for building bridges! AmortentiaInMyVeins, thank you for being the beta of my dreams. Your patience, dedication and the positively wicked sense of humour made my day. Астрея, should you be reading this - you're a legend! No words can express my gratitude and love for your work.

“You’re like an Erumpent in a potions’ shop, Granger!” Snape snarled at his hapless co-worker. "Are you or are you not aware that you need to use caution in a laboratory?”

Hermione looked down to the broken vial before her, inhaled the pleasant aroma, and felt an odd surge of invigorating irritation.

“What did you destroy now, you dimwit?” Snape said, pushing Hermione aside and gritting his teeth as he looked down at the shards. “Dunderheads are dangerous when they travel in packs. However, you, Granger, are a woman of true talent: you are a hazard in and of yourself!”

Hermione watched in awe as the sallow skin of the Professor grew even paler— something she hadn't imagined was possible before.

“Do you realize what you have done, Miss Granger?”

Oh, she did. The icy calmness of the Professor's voice and the pronounced enunciation of “Miss” told her everything. Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat, but decided not to give in to his menacing harassment without a fight.

“It’s all _your_ fault!” she firmly declared. It seemed her chosen tactics worked, because the Professor, who was no doubt about to say something biting, stopped short with his mouth wide-open. “As stated by The Occupational Health and Safety Regulations for Working with Potions— paragraph number two hundred thirty-four, sub-paragraph three, clause three point four— all hazardous potions must be stored under necessary protection, in unbreakable containers, and out of the reach of unauthorized personnel,” she rattled.

“It is _you_ who has invaded the lab space in my home without warning!” said Snape through set teeth. “The fact that the Ministry has put us both on the same project does not authorize _you_ to tinker with my work! Even the official admission to my private lab does not give you the right for you to burst in here just any time — be it day or night! Especially at night, Granger!”

The fact that Snape called her by her last name, omitting that dreadful prefix “Miss” relieved Hermione and gave her the hope that Snape would not kill her right away. 

Hermione put her hand to her chest and said with thoughtful passion, “But, I had an idea!”

Snape rolled his eyes, shook his head and carefully covered the broken vial with a glass jar.

“Why glass?” Hermione couldn’t hide her curiosity. “And why didn't you use the non-breaking spell?”

“To lessen the external impact on the potion,” muttered Snape. “The compounds are not stable enough… Do you feel strange, Granger? I think some of it got on your feet,” Snape said, indicating her ankle.

And sure enough, a drop of unknown potion glistened just above the edge of one of her salamander skin shoes.

A slight feeling of uneasiness crept over Hermione.

“And, we both inhaled some vapour as well”, Snape pointed out thoughtfully. With a wave of his wand he summoned a parchment and Quick-Notes-Quill and started to dictate:

“The start of the experiment: 12:16 _ante meridiem_.”

Hermione tried to distinguish the individual sensations she was experiencing. She was thirsty. And she wanted to get out of the lab. And anyway — why on earth did she decide to share her idea with Snape in the middle of the night in the first place? It was a very, very bad idea, indeed!

“What am I supposed to feel? What kind of nasty stuff did you brew, anyways?” she clutched at the sleeve of Snape’s robe. “Are we going to die?”

“I don’t know,” Snape shrugged. “It depends on what dreams you, or we, have been having.”

“What?” Hermione stared at Snape in confusion.

“This is the Potion of Unfulfilled Dreams,” he enunciated.

Hermione let go of his robe and gaped at Professor Snape in disbelief before she burst out laughing.

“That’s impossible! If you somehow managed to make such a potion, you would be a millionaire. It would be a work of pure genius— making people happy in such a way that all of their dreams come true!"

“You think so?” Snape asked her skeptically. “Haven’t you ever dreamt of killing somebody? I’m closer than ever to wishing it.”

Snape shrugged once again. Hermione snorted and turned around to head out of the lab. Suddenly an enormous, overly-ornamented multi-tiered cake with a deluge of cream roses appeared in the air right in front of her. It hit the floor with a terrible splat, smashing into pieces. 

Hermione yelped and froze. Snape grunted and walked over to her. He turned her around to face him, snapping his fingers to get her attention. Hermione winced and blinked owlishly.

"You've got a little something here," he said, pointing at her face.

“Where?” Hermione said hoarsely.

“There,” Snape pointed again.

“Yes?” Hermione was still so in shock that she didn’t have the wherewithal to move her hand. 

"Mm-hmm," Snape carefully wiped a speck of cream off her cheek. "Cake? Granger, you seriously wished for a cake?"

Snape took her by the elbow, led her out of the laboratory, and steered her towards the living room. Once there, he seated her in an armchair in front of the fireplace, grumbling something about ‘safety first.’ 

He opened the bar, hesitated for a moment, looked at Hermione who was sitting at the edge of the armchair, and then poured a glass of whisky, handing it to her.

Hermione pulled the hem of her dress down over her clasped knees and gratefully accepted the drink. She took a sip and then tears sprung from her eyes.

“My parents were dentists,” she said after her throat was clear again.

“That explains everything,” Snape said quietly and poured himself a shot of whisky as well.

“Yes, actually, it does!” Hermione lifted her chin in defiance. “I wished for a cake every birthday! Sweet. And tasty. And huge! My parents never bought me sweets,” she finished sadly. “Sweets ruin your teeth.”

“And this is why you constantly bring sweets to my house? Does it keep you calm?” Snape raised an eyebrow as he sat down in the adjacent chair. “Do you wish to talk about it? What about toys?”

Hermione furrowed her brow, deep in thought.

“I don’t remember.”

The doorbell rang. Snape and Hermione exchanged glances.

When they opened the door, they found a sleepy little man in a nightshirt and cap standing there. His hands were occupied by a magic wand in one hand and a neat parcel in the other.

“Mr. Brooks?” Hermione exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Mmm,” the elderly man hesitated, exchanging glances with Snape. “I was wrong, Miss Granger. I decided I _will_ sell you one of my two Moon Spell Grimoires. I want one hundred Galleons!” his voice shook with tears.

“Professor,” Hermione hissed, nudging Snape's side with her elbow. “If you could lend me one hundred Galleons real quick? I have been dreaming about that grimoire since my time in University. And that rapacious man… I mean, Mr. Brooks...”

The Professor sighed and thrust a heavy purse into her hands.

* * *

When he returned to the living room together with Hermione, who was happily holding the parcel close to her heart, Snape refilled their glasses.

“Only one hundred Galleons? The poor fellow will have a heart attack. Do you have any conscience, Granger?”

“Loads! Do you want some?” Hermione saluted Snape with her glass and brought it to her lips.

“Hermo-ninny!” a cheerful voice called from the fireplace floo, and Viktor Krum fell into the floor of the living room. “I missed you so much!” he said, dusting himself off. 

Hermione coughed, splashing the whisky. Krum sprung over to her, carefully trying to help her catch her breath.

“What are you doing here, Viktor?”

She studied Krum, who had grown a little bit plumper over the years, with great suspicion. He was smiling sheepishly and trying to catch her palms in his.

She looked helplessly at Snape, who was standing arms crossed and had just finished dictating to the floating parchment, “...through a blocked fireplace."

She deduced that there would be no help from Snape while he was in research-mode and turned back to Krum, who was sighing gingerly.

“Well?” she asked again sternly.

“I was sleeping. And then it dawned on me, Hermo-ninny!”

Hermione growled.

“I suddenly realized how badly I want to kiss you!”

And, immediately, just like that, he fulfilled his wish. Hermione, dumbfounded, didn't resist.

“Hmmm,” somebody said nearby and Krum finally tore his mouth from hers.

“I was dreaming about this in school!” Hermione said defensively, wiping her mouth and trying to avoid looking at Krum, who seemed pleased. “He was so sweet; he held my hand… Don't laugh, Professor!” She stamped her feet. “As if you didn't dream about something like that when you were a teenager!”

“W-well,” Snape grimaced.

“I am _such_ a cow!” somebody said and Snape and Hermione, as if on cue, turned their heads towards the voice. A pretty woman with a voluptuous figure, emphasized by the lacy nightgown she was wearing, dejectedly stood barefoot on the carpet and muttered, “I'm a vile creature, a stupid fool, a horrible slag...”

“I think I may know her,” said Snape with some doubt in his voice.

“That's Lavender Brown,” Hermione grunted. “I mean, Weasley.”

“Ah,” Snape nodded. “She is surprisingly self-critical."

Hermione pursed her lips.

“Severus, my boy!” a kind old voice said next to her and she felt her stomach sink. “I have been wanting to tell you for quite some time...”

Hermione clung to Snape who was frozen as a statue, watching Albus Dumbledore approaching them in a beautiful purple robe with silver stars woven on it. His head was adorned by a high pointed cap.

“It’s not me this time!” Hermione shouted hysterically.

“It seems the vapours of the potion have some kind of effect as well,” Snape croaked, gawping at the half-moon glasses on the tip of Dumbledore’s nose.

“Some kind of effect?” Hermione hissed. “He was dead!”

Snape finally turned his head towards Hermione, who staggered catching his half-mad gaze.

“I’m aware, Granger,” he said dully and then turned back to Dumbledore. “First, I wanted to tell you that I forgive you Albus. After that— how much I hate you,” Snape’s voice was quiet and calm. “However, many years have passed, and now I realize that I, myself, was largely to blame for what transpired. Rest in peace, headmaster!”

Dumbledore was listening with his hands folded on his stomach. Suddenly the fire flared green and Ron Weasley tumbled out of the fireplace.

“Damn it!” Hermione swore in annoyance.

“Hermione!” Ron rushed to her. “I was an idiot to leave you for Lavender! I’m a moron!”

“What a busy personal life you have, Granger,” Snape muttered, turning away from Dumbledore with some kind of difficulty. “Perhaps we should let Weasley stand over there with his wife. Or, do you wish to savour the moment?”

“I want to go home,” Hermione said plaintively, glancing sideways to Dumbledore. “And get drunk.”

“You can have a drink,” Snape tittered, ignoring the audience, most of whom were engaged in their own business. Except for Krum, who needed to be slightly immobilized when Snape, on his way to fetch fresh glasses, found that he was a little too eager to kiss Hermione again. The others were busily engaged in self-castigation in the background. Dumbledore, on the other hand, was sitting comfortably on the couch, delightfully rummaging through the bag of sweets he had found on the table. 

Snape and Hermione barely managed to take a sip of their sedative, when the doorbell rang again.

“Let’s pretend we're not here,” Hermione offered after a few seconds of silence had fallen upon the room.

“But you are here!” stated Dumbledore cheerfully as he went to open the door.

Snape and Hermione groaned. Eyes wide with shock, Harry Potter entered the living room. Snape sighed, poured another glass of whisky, and handed it to Harry.

“I wonder why he’s here...” Hermione contemplated looking at Snape.

“Don’t look at me like that!” said Snape nervously.

Both stared at Harry, waiting for him to catch his breath.

“Is that Professor Dumbledore over there?” Harry asked weakly.

Hermione nodded.

“I knew you were working together on a Ministry project, but this...” Harry took a sip, coughed and, as if remembering something, perked up. “I thought it would be wise to come and say this in-person. It wouldn’t be right to tell you this through the Floo at night… Professor Snape,” Harry began solemnly and Hermione breathed out with relief. “I wanted to apologize for being such an arrogant arsehole while at school. And to acknowledge that I’m still an arsehole.”

Hermione chuckled, moving away from Snape, who was listening to Harry’s confession stony-faced.

“Hermione!” Harry faced her and Hermione groaned. “Hermione, I’m so sorry that I didn’t tell you… I didn’t tell you that...”

“Harry, don’t!” Hermione jumped and covered his mouth with her hand. “Don’t! You are my very, very best friend, and that is what counts. And I’m terribly happy that no dreams or regrets that happened what feels like a century ago can change that!”

Hermione hugged the bewildered Harry. Snape snorted and turned away.

“Let’s have a drink on it!” Dumbledore enthusiastically announced, pouring more whisky into their glasses.

This caused some activity among the crowd. Ron and Lavender, terribly embarrassed, tried not to look in the direction of Dumbledore. They managed to release the spell on Krum, and now he was casting glances at Hermione filled with quiet regret. 

There was a terrible sound of glass crashing and a sad-eyed Voldemort appeared on the carpet, clad in tattered clothes.

Snape, Krum, Harry and Hermione drew their wands. Lavender screeched, clinging to Ron. Dumbledore, nonplussed, shook his head muttering “Why don’t you have any butterbeer, my boy?” and went back to sit on the couch.

“I did not expect this from you, Severusss!” hissed Voldemort with sincere regret as the earth swallowed him up.

Within moments, he reappeared in front of the stunned spectators and exploded, scattering into dust.

No sooner than everybody had managed to clear their throats, Voldemort rematerialized before them once again and his body began to convulse. He was twisting and bending as if somebody was turning him inside out.

“What’s happening?” Hermione carefully asked Snape, lowering her wand.

“That, Miss Granger, is what happens when you wish for someone to ‘get buggered six ways from Sunday,’” said Dumbledore, munching his liquorice on the couch. “I didn’t know you had such a rich imagination, Severus!”

“You sick pervert!” yelled Voldemort as he was furiously hammering his head into the wall.

“How long will this take?” Hermione asked quietly, touching Snape’s sleeve as he regarded Voldemort. “Do you have an antidote?”

Snape turned to her, a bitter smile curving his lips:

“Not all of my wishes have come true yet, Miss Granger,” he said hoarsely. “Not all of my dead have yet come. There are so many things I want to tell them. Things I couldn’t tell them before...”

Reaching up, she gently pushed a loose strand of hair away from his face and then hugged him tightly. Snape froze, then, closing his eyes for a moment, buried his face in her hair. He held her so tightly in his arms that she could hardly breathe. The buttons of his frock-coat pressed forcefully into her cheek, but she couldn’t let go... she didn’t _want_ to let him go. She didn’t know how long they were standing there in the middle of the living room, but, when he finally released her, she somehow felt cold and alone. The room was empty. Hermione shivered and wrapped her arms around herself.

She didn’t dare look up at Snape, who stood just a step away from her. When he cupped her chin, turned her face up to his, and gently pressed his lips to hers, she felt as if her heart would jump out of her ribcage.

“Whose dream just came true?” a sly voice came from the direction of the couch when Snape finally managed to let go of her lips, and Hermione hid her reddened face against his chest.

“Albus, I think it’s time for you to go,” Snape said softly.

“Yes, it’s time,” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled behind his half-moon glasses. “I hope you don’t mind me taking the bottle of this wonderful Scotch and some bags of sweets. You do not eat them anyway and Hermione knows she shouldn’t.”

Snape shrugged and Dumbledore, grabbing the confectionery, the bottle, and the hem of his robes, disappeared into the wall, singing chipperly “A dream is a wish your heart makes...”1

The doorbell rang. Hermione and Snape exchanged glances and simultaneously shook their heads. But, whoever was there began insistently pounding and kicking at the door. 

“Miss Granger, Miss Granger! You have been chosen to be the new Minister of Magic!” the voice shouted behind the closed door.

Snape raised his eyebrow and looked questioningly at Hermione.

“Well,” she hesitated, “I was positively hammered then...”

The door continued to shake from the blows.

“My Lord! My Dark Lord! I have a message for you! Master!”

Hermione bit her lip. Snape rolled his eyes.

“...Not that drunk, though!” she could not resist adding and burst out laughing.

“Bugger off, all of you!” Snape bellowed, grabbed the laughing Hermione by her arm and steered her upstairs. “Am I the Master here, or not?”

* * *

“Whose dream was it that came true in the end?” Hermione asked, a huge smile on her face, when they woke up the next morning in the same bed.

“I'm not so sure about the dream,” Snape replied sincerely, twisting one of her curls around his finger, “But not all of my fantasies have been fulfilled quite yet.”

He turned to Hermione and his hand disappeared under the covers. 

“Fine, but it’s my turn to be on top,” purred Hermione seductively. “...my Lord.”

“I’m brilliant,” Snape remarked, leaning back and watching with interest as Hermione sat up on the bed, shook out her hair, and began to slowly pull the covers down her naked body.

**Author's Note:**

> 1Translator’s note: The song Dumbledore sings in the original Russian fanfic is different. It’s a song from an old Soviet-time film “Take Care of the Women” (Берегите женщин, 1981) by Yuriy Antonov (Юрий Антонов) - “A Dream Comes True” (Мечта сбывается). The translation of the refrain is approximately as follows: 
> 
> A dream comes true or does not [come true],  
> Love comes to us but [it's] sometimes not _the_ one,  
> However, all good things will not be forgotten,  
> And all good things are to be wished for.
> 
> [This](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Yx_pkEL2Cs) is the link to the song on Youtube.
> 
> My wonderful beta and I decided to go for a Cinderella classic here as it is more known for the English-speaking audiences. Though it’s quite different both in lyrics and style, it evokes similar feelings of nostalgia and optimism as Antonov's hit.


End file.
